


Bad Guy

by nicmacallan



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicmacallan/pseuds/nicmacallan
Summary: Macy storms off after seeing Harry kiss Abigail, battling against her inner demons and avoiding her anger, but that accidentally takes her down a rather rocky emotional path. Luckily, even rocky paths can have happy endings. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 26
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After 0208, and before we find out what the writers have in store for Hacy (I’m a little skeptical, tbh, but willing to hold out hope that they’ll find a way to fix this latest misstep) so here we go!

Avoidance, that was good. Total avoidance. That was the right call. It had always worked before...hadn’t it?

Macy shook her head, disgusted with herself as she crossed the lobby of Safe Space— _ what a joke _ , said the angry little voice in her head—and she didn’t have to wonder what it meant. Not even a little. Because, ever since she’d come here with her sisters, ever since the first time she’d set foot in this place (literally, bleeding from an arrow wound to her leg) she’d been doing pretty much nothing but getting hurt.  _ Safe Space, my perfectly-toned ass _ , the voice confirmed. Too upset to tune it out like she usually did, Macy huffed a bitter little laugh and nodded along.

“You’re not wrong,” she muttered to herself. Or maybe it was just a part of herself. Her subconscious sass monster, or maybe a psychic personification of her demon side, which she’d tried so hard to repress. So hard. For so long.

_ But why?  _ The voice whispered to her now, soft and seductive, with the barest hint of an accent.  _ Why try so hard to resist? Why deny yourself this anger, which you’ve so rightfully earned? When nobody in your life seems to ever deny themselves anything? Mel kisses whoever she fancies, after all, and Maggie didn’t even blink before running out and deciding to elope with Parker. And let’s not even get started on Harry. Mr. ‘dangerous can only be exciting for me.’ _

It frickin figured that her inner demons would be British. Macy sneered at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass partitions that separated the coffee shop (by day) and bar (by night) from the rest of the lobby. It was nearing last call, so there were only a few scattered patrons left in the area. Without allowing herself to stop and think it through, Macy changed course and bellied up to the bar. The ridiculously attractive bartender (a tattooed hipster-lumberjack-looking specimen who she’d met once or twice before...she wanted to say his name was Lance, or something) turned and smiled. His beard was neatly trimmed—which she appreciated, considering that he was responsible for handling people’s food and beverages—and his smile was warm and friendly.

“Good evening, m’lady,” he trilled, in a passable impression of a British accent. Macy frowned, and he quickly backpedaled. “Sorry, lame joke. My brain gets a little warped at the end of a double shift. Let’s start over. I’m Logan. What can I get you?”

Amused (and maybe a little secondhand embarrassed) by Logan’s awkwardness, Macy smiled. Honestly though, it felt more like a wince. But it was the best she could do, for now.

“Logan, I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “I’ve just had the worst night ever—and please, trust me when I tell you, that is really saying something, because my life...is complicated, often in a very bad way—so I need as many shots as you’re legally allowed to serve me. As quickly as you’re physically able to serve them to me.”

The bartender raised his eyebrows, but didn’t lose his smile. “Wow, sounds serious.”

Without breaking eye contact, he flipped the towel he was holding over his shoulder, reached down below the bar, and casually flipped one, two, three, four shot glasses from one hand to the other, lining them up neatly in front of her. Then, as Macy watched (probably with her mouth open—because hey, it was pretty impressive) he flipped up a bottle of mid-shelf tequila—almost like he’d read her mind—and filled all four shot glasses equally, without spilling a drop.

“Okay, I uh,” Macy stammered, momentarily forgetting about her issues, “can I just say, I hope they’re paying you what you’re worth, because that...almost defied the laws of physics.” She reached for a shot glass and downed it, coughing a little to get past the burn, before she continued, already reaching for another. “Seriously, I wish half of the techs in my lab had hands that steady. Maybe then we wouldn’t have had so many accidental explosions.”

Logan grinned at her compliment, odd as it was. “Oh cool, are you like, some kind of scientist?”

Macy almost choked on her second shot, as her inner voice chided,  _ Nice one, Vaughn _ .  _ Why not just let slip your entire history, while you’re at it? After all, it’s not often you stumble across a strange man willing to ply you with alcohol to get into your...heart. The old fashioned way. As opposed to spending months slowly earning your trust, embedding himself in your family, and encroaching on every aspect of your life—even your dreams—before he finally shows his true colors, belittling you for your imperfections, chiding you for your weaknesses, before he goes out and tongue-fucks the first dubious harlot he can find? _

And okay, whoa there. Not only was the voice in her head getting louder and much sassier with each drink, but it was also starting to make a lot of sense. Macy shook her head, and downed the next shot. She couldn’t afford to argue with herself right now. There was too much drama there. Better to avoid the details, for now, and focus on the big picture.

“Not really, no.” 

A scientist would’ve been smart enough to pay attention to the facts. She would’ve kept her eyes open, weighed the evidence, and seen Harry’s betrayal coming a mile off. Ten miles off. Laughing awkwardly—and a little bitterly—Macy changed the subject, as she reached for her third shot. 

“So, how about you, Logan? Have you worked here long?”

“Oh, it’s actually kind of a funny story….”

Macy only half-listened to his reply as she downed the next drink, focusing more on the words Logan said than what they meant. Woodworking. Custom guitars. John Mayer. Jackson Hole.

Pure observation, with zero analytics. That was Avoidance 101, and Macy was a pro. Well past that, in fact. She could practically teach a course on it. Advanced Emotional Avoidance, for the Frequently Jilted. Or no...not jilted, exactly. More like ignored. Discounted. Passed over, in favor of subjects that responded much more predictably, and favorably, to any kind of romantic efforts. Not that the other girls were easy, per se—except maybe in Abigail’s case—it was just that they weren’t as complicated, as frustrating, or as difficult an equation as Macy. Nobody ever seemed to want to do things at her pace. She was starting to wonder if there was ever going to be anyone willing to stick around and do the math. Wait. Was it a math problem, or a chemistry problem? Or physics? Her analogy was all mixed up. It didn’t make sense.

_ God, listen to you _ , the voice taunted, even louder now than before. _ Always ready to blame yourself, feel sorry for yourself, even torture yourself before you’re willing to lay even a scrap of blame at the feet of the ones who deserve it. Where is your pride, Vaughn? Or did the gods accidentally skip you the day they were handing it out? Along with alcohol tolerance? _

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Macy shot back, not realizing that she’d spoken aloud until Logan stopped talking to look at her, confusion written across his beautiful, bearded face. She could feel herself blushing, but didn’t know how to explain her sudden outburst.

“I mean, yeah, I guess I could’ve gotten more for the piece, but….” Logan said slowly, like he was trying to figure out how her response matched what he’d been saying. Macy had no idea what he was talking about. He glanced down at the final shot on the bar, which sat forlornly next to its three empty and overturned brothers. Or sisters, Macy corrected herself silently. Why should male be the default, after all? She reached for the final shot, but Logan got there first.

“You know what, I should probably drink this one,” he said. He being the bartender. Whose name she definitely knew. Or, at least she had, a moment ago. “You’re looking a little...bendy.”

“Bendy?” The flare of outrage was so sudden and strong, it took Macy by surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m perfectly sober, Mr… Judgy Bartender Guy.” She tried to slide down off the stool into a standing position, the better to prove her point, but unfortunately her foot caught on something, and she stumbled. “And...and even if I wasn’t, I’m a goddamn adult woman, who can make her own decisions.”

“Okay, Adult Woman,” the bartender took a step back, but he took the last shot with him. “I’m just saying, you might want to pace yourself. Slim little thing like you, straight tequila shots are going to hit hard. And you still need to get home safely. Speaking of which, where do you live?”

_ Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are. _

The voice in her head had changed, somehow. Instead of a slightly British version of herself, now there was no mistaking the deep tenor. It was Harry—or James, actually—but either way, it was only a memory. Because he was gone. James. Not Harry. But also, maybe Harry, too. And neither of them were ever coming back. Not to her. No matter who, or where she was.

Macy swayed on her feet for a moment, hands clutching the edge of the bar as her mind struggled to process the rest of the words he’d said. This stranger who seemingly wanted to know where she lived. Stranger. That’s right, he was a stranger. Danger, her brain said, and it sounded just like her now. Too tipsy to be British, or even communicate in complete sentences.

Slim little thing, he’d said. For some reason, those were the words that brought back the rage. Maybe because it was so similar to what her childhood bullies had called her. Or maybe because it was the simplest thing to respond to. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice came out way too loud, and the handful of other people left in the bar were staring, but Macy didn’t care. “I am NOT. Skinny.”

“I didn’t say you were,” the guy began, but Macy spoke over him. 

On some level, she knew she’d lost it. But she couldn’t stop. Tequila was her demon side now. 

“I’ll have you know that I have thick thighs, and an ass for days! An ass that you—” she pointed at him with one hand, suggestively cupping her backside “—or Harry, or any number of single, heterosexual men would be LUCKY to touch. But, unfortunately for you—and actually, for me—you don’t know what you’re missing. You’re too busy torturing yourselves over your own stupid past, or playing Devil’s Advocate for the Actual Devil, or...I don’t know, making hand-carved mahogany guitars for...Fucking John Mayer, or whatever. But who cares? Literally, NOBODY CARES. Because nobody will ever love you if you don’t learn to come out and say what you want from life. You know?”

The bartender, who had slowly been inching away from her during this rant, now looked pointedly over her shoulder with an expression that looked suspiciously a lot like the universal face for “somebody, please help me.”

“Macy? Is everything alright?”

Correction. The bartender’s face wasn’t a “someone please help me” but a “Harry, please help me.” She’d know that voice anywhere.

Closing her eyes to stop a sudden flow of unexpected tears, Macy took a breath to calm her pounding heart, but that only made her feel more dizzy. She reached for the bar again to steady herself, but her hand landed on something warmer and slightly less solid. An arm, which someone had put out in front of her, probably to keep her from falling. No, not someone. Harry. And it wasn’t probably. He was protecting her, definitely. Like he always did. Physically, at least.

Macy couldn’t bear to open her eyes and look at him. Not only because his face would certainly make her burst into tears, but also because she was pretty sure that if he looked into her eyes, he would know. Everything. Or even some of the pain she was feeling. Even that would be enough. Too much.

She brought a hand up to cover her eyes, clutching her forehead in the process, which was suddenly pounding.

“No. Harry. Please go away.” Shrugging away from his touch, Macy fumbled out until she touched the bar. Only then did she open her eyes. The pain of hearing his voice, of being this close to him, was surprisingly effective at sobering her. She took a shaky breath and steadied her voice, forcing a tight smile. “Logan. How much do I owe you?”

Despite being a bartender at a place that was frequented by neurotic entrepreneur types and overdramatic hipsters, Logan seemed to have reached his daily limit for drama. He kept his distance, as he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Fine,” Macy smiled even more sweetly, until it hurt. She took a twenty out of her wallet and dropped it on the bar. “Keep this as a tip, and thank you for your service.”

_ Way to prove you’re not too much work, Vaughn. Nobody will think you’re difficult now. Or crazy. _

With that, she turned to leave, pointedly ignoring the voices in her head, and the more polite but equally insistent one that followed her as she walked swiftly—but not as straight as she’d like—toward the exit.

“Macy, talk to me. What’s happened? Is it Maggie? Are any of you hurt?”

Teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the path ahead of her and nothing else, Macy pointedly ignored Harry as he followed closely, peppering her with concerned questions until they were halfway down the street. 

“Macy, why won’t you talk to me? What is the matter? This isn’t like you at all.”

_ Oh, if you only knew all the things I could say, want to say, but never do. _

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Not sober enough to run, but feeling slightly more alert thanks to the cold night air, Macy turned the corner to take a shortcut, through the alley between the ramen place and the shoe repair place. It was dark, and super creepy, but ultimately preferable to listening to Harry’s questions anymore. A few steps into the alley, something grabbed her, yanking her back and pushing her up against a concrete wall directly below a lone, flickering lamp. Macy was so unprepared for the change in direction that she flailed out with her hands, fingers clutching the arms of the person who had grabbed her. She wasn’t prepared for that person to be Harry. Maybe she should’ve been. But she wasn’t.

“Macy,” his voice was low, and a little rough. His grip was also rougher than usual. “Talk to me.”

Direct eye contact, uncomfortably direct. Intimate. Bold. Confident. Eyes dark and challenging. For a shred of a second, Macy thought maybe it wasn’t Harry who had grabbed her, but James. But then, that couldn’t make sense. James was gone. Besides, Harry was still wearing his tuxedo from Maggie’s disastrous Almost Wedding earlier that evening. How could she forget? 

Macy found herself staring at the unbuttoned collar of his crisp, white shirt, at the unfastened bowtie still haphazardly draped around his neck, at the shiny lapels of his black jacket. Unconsciously, she tightened her fingers around his biceps, unable to stop herself from picturing Abigail's hands clutching at the fabric of this same jacket as she’d kissed him—more like assaulted him, with her mouth and tongue, but whatever—and she couldn’t hold back the tide of pure, bitter, selfish, frustrated rage. She hated the way he made her feel. Hated the way his voice still got to her, sliding easily through the cracks in the protective walls she’d created, warming her from the inside. More than that, though, she hated the fact that she knew the truth now. Hated the knowledge of him and Abigail together, hated the images burned into her brain, and way it made her heart feel like it was full of ice in spite of all the molten anger in her body. 

Moving her hands from his arms to his chest, Macy flattened her palms against his crisp white shirt, and pushed him away as hard as she could. The sound that escaped her wasn’t a sob, or a scream, but something in between. It was almost a growl, feral and full of pain. But also, fire.

Fingers flaming, Macy stepped away from the wall, toward where Harry had staggered back in surprise, into the center of the alley. Eyes wide, hands up in submission, he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. But he didn’t retreat. Even though Macy was pretty sure her eyes were black, and she probably looked murderous. She felt murderous, at least.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Her voice wasn’t hers alone, but layered with the voice of her inner demons, plural. “Goddammit, Harry. If you’re not going to see me, why can’t you just not see me? Why can’t you leave me, for real? Forever? Just get the hell out of my life. GET OUT OF MY HEART.”

As soon as those words left her lips, Macy’s anger abandoned her, along with the voices. 

Harry blinked, his face morphing from concern, to surprise, to disbelief. Then, something else. It was too much. She couldn’t begin to calculate how much. Mortified, she backed away from him. Clenching her fists to put out the fire, she turned to run. But she didn’t get far.

She felt his arms surround her, pulling her in tight, and then the universe collapsed in on itself. Twisting through time and space, Macy held her breath, and then it was over. When she blinked, and her eyes adjusted, Macy found herself standing in the Command Center’s Library. Where the horrible, painful downward spiral had started. With Harry. And Abigail. And her, on the stairs above, watching as everything she’d always wanted—but hadn’t admitted to herself until it was too late—passed her by for something else. Again. Another miscalculation, missed opportunity.

Only now, it was just Macy and Harry, standing where he and Abigail had stood. Macy realized then that Harry’s arms were still around her waist, from orbing her out of the alley. Avoiding his gaze, she tried to push him away. But he wouldn’t let her go. Halfheartedly, she struggled to escape, but he held her. Tight enough to seriously restrict her movements, but not enough to hurt her. Unable to bear being held by him, for all the wrong reasons, Macy shut her eyes.

“I’ve never seen you get this angry,” he said, in that same low, rough tone. “Or at least, I should say, I’ve not seen you let yourself show it to this extent. And you’d never threaten to hurt anyone unless you truly felt that you were in danger. No matter how many tequila shots you’d had. That knowledge, combined with your rather perplexing rant at the bar, during which you mentioned something about my touching your...well, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounded like you’ve thought about us being...more than friends.”

That...was a lot of mental calculating for someone who didn’t care about her. Macy fought inside herself, using every bit of energy she had to focus on his words, and what they might mean. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she cautiously opened her eyes and looked at him. They were face to face, and he was very close. Much too close. But she couldn’t look away again.

“That got me to wondering.” 

His dark green eyes looked boldly into hers as he continued, but his voice was gentler now. 

“As worried as I was by your sudden change in behavior, it didn’t seem like you were under any kind of spell. Other than the influence of spirits.” A tiny smirk played at the corner of his mouth, and she kind of wanted to slap it right off his stupid, perfect face. “I never dared to hope until now, and the last thing I would ever want to do is overstep—or, as Maggie would say, ‘make it weird’—but it occurred to me that perhaps part of what you’re feeling...could it possibly be...jealousy?”

Something tightened in Macy’s chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was anger, or embarrassment, or something else. She hated how easily he saw through her. Which seemed a little ridiculous, given that she’d been despairing about how he hadn’t seen her at all, an hour ago. She frowned, fighting against it, challenging him with her eyes.

“Jealous? What do you—I mean, why would I be jealous?”

“My best guess is that you somehow witnessed what happened in here, earlier this evening.”

Surprisingly, shockingly, maddeningly, Harry said this without even a hint of shame.

“Oh, so you admit it? What are you, like, proud of yourself?”

“Not at all. But I can’t pretend that I’m not secretly overjoyed that it made you jealous, because that means you feel something for me.” At that, he paused, and his breath hitched. “Which would be fantastic news, considering that I am completely, helplessly in love with you, Macy.”

“You’re...what?” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t happening. Please, let it be happening.

Feeling drunk in a different way now, Macy found herself swaying slightly, toward him. It brought their faces even closer, lips almost touching. She could feel the heat of his hands on her waist, slowly working its way through her clothes. When she breathed in, the smell of Harry filled her lungs, that peppery, intoxicating combination of bergamot and spearmint. Her eyes dropped to his lips, slightly parted, and waiting. That was when she remembered. Someone else had kissed these same lips, just hours ago, in this same place. Someone evil. Someone who wasn’t her.

Macy pulled away at the last second, shaking her head, trying to clear it. “No. Wait.”

Ever the gentleman, Harry pulled back, giving her a bit of space.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She stepped back, until her legs bumped the edge of the table, and she gratefully sat down on it to continue her rant. “I can’t just fall into your arms! I’m still so, SO mad at you. I mean, how could you, Harry? Even if we weren’t—even if we aren’t together, she’s still a liar, and a murderer, not to mention super shady! And you kissed her! I saw you kiss her. On purpose! And not like, a little bit. You kissed her a lot!”

“You’re right,” he said, again with that ridiculous air of calm. “About Abigail, I mean. Completely. Although, I will admit, had I known you would be here to see it, I certainly would have played my role a bit less...convincingly. But you have to understand, Macy, she needed to believe that her plan was working. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have stopped trying to manipulate you and your sisters.”

“You…” Macy’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t because of the tequila. That was actually starting to wear off now, thank the gods. “Wait. I’m confused. What do you mean, ‘your role?’”

Harry stepped into her personal space again, and with his damned sexy (and annoying) James-like confidence, he took both of her hands in his. His voice even took on that infuriating tone he had when he lectured them about the history of magic, or systemic misogyny. It was unnatural how angry and turned on it was possible to feel at the same time, Macy decided.

“I mean that ever since you went missing, since my Darklighter took you….” His face darkened for a second at the mention, as it always did when he mentioned James, but that quickly passed. “Abigail originally tried to influence the Power of Three through you, Macy, as I’m sure you remember. But she underestimated you, and because you’re smarter than, well any of us, she realized that you were the least likely to ever turn your back on her again. Which meant she needed a new target. Obviously, Mel was going to be a challenge to turn to her side, so Abigail focused on upsetting her instead. By constantly egging her on and—what was that American term? Oh, yes—by ‘negging’ her, until she put herself at risk by drinking the Kyon musk.”

That was right before Macy was taken. She wondered briefly if things would’ve been different if she hadn’t gone with James. If she’d found a way to get back to Harry sooner, before he’d been desperate enough to turn to Abigail for help. It was her fault that they’d gotten so close. If it wasn’t for her disappearance, Abigail would still be imprisoned, where she belonged. Meanwhile, Harry continued his comprehensive lecture like the nerdy professor he was. 

“Maggie was next on her list,” he explained, “and we all saw how easily Abigail manipulated her feelings for Parker to throw suspicion away from herself and onto him, when we originally suspected her of massacring the dryads at the Sacred Grove. That was when I began to suspect that she was behind everything.” He paused, long enough to take a deep breath, and let out a short, frustrated sigh. “But I couldn’t be certain until after the wedding, when she attacked Parker with the Overlord’s ceremonial knife.” Another sigh. “I knew I couldn’t let that...demonic harpy get her hooks back into you, or either of your sisters. But she’s clearly more powerful, and dangerous, than any of us realized. So it seemed like the smartest play to trick her into thinking she’d won, at least for now, until we can figure out what she’s planning.”

Macy nodded, distracted for a moment by the way his thumb was drawing slow circles across the top of her hand as he spoke. He was probably trying to soothe her, but it had the opposite effect. Anyway, she got the gist.

“So, you decided to sacrifice yourself? And let Abigail...seduce you? Without telling us that was your plan?”

Harry frowned, bending down so that they were once again face to face. “I didn’t say it was a well thought out plan, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice.”

“Tonsil hockey?” Macy retorted. Their faces were way too close. Again.

He actually laughed at that, the bastard. “I assure you, there were no tonsils involved. Not even tongues. At least, not on my end.”

“Oh, gross!” Macy brought her hands up to press against his chest, to push him away. But she didn’t push very hard, or maybe he was stronger than he seemed, because he didn’t budge. “I don’t need to hear the details, Harry! It’s bad enough that it happened at all!”

“Would you like me to show you, instead?” 

He said it with a smile, but his voice had that dark, dangerous quality. He wasn’t joking. Or was he? Macy’s next breath got stuck in her throat.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—but surely (why was he suddenly so goddamn confident!?) Harry lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. So lightly at first, she wasn’t sure it was really happening. Her eyelashes brushed against his face as she snuck a peek. Down to his mouth, which was perfect and sexy and smirking. She wanted to strangle him. But not really.

The second brush was much less soft, and she curled her fingers in his shirt and brought him back, when he dared to pull away again. This time, she kissed him, tilting her head to get a better angle and opening her mouth slightly, silently urging him to do the same. When he did, he gasped slightly, like he wanted to pull her into himself. Macy deepened the kiss, searching for his tongue with hers, pressing into him like her lips were fire and she was trying to brand him. And maybe she was, a little. He seemed to like it, though, a lot. Because he moaned into her mouth, moving his hands up to cup her face, sliding one back down to rest at the nape of her neck, under her hair. He pressed lightly, tilting her head back even further as he stepped between her legs and pulled her body closer to his. With his tongue, he probed and conquered, and there was nothing proper or polite about it. Macy arched her back, whimpering for more. Normally, she’d have been embarrassed at how brazen—or as Maggie would say ‘thirsty’— she was acting, but in this case, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn. Not when Harry was finally touching her the way she’d always secretly (and lately, not so secretly) dreamed about. Not when he’d chased her down a dark alley, and basically dragged her back here to tell her the truth. After he’d actually done the math, to figure out why she was so upset. And oh, that’s right. She remembered now, because his kisses were almost like a truth serum for her brain: he said he was in love with her.

“Harry,” she pulled away, just enough to gasp in between kisses. “Forget about everything else. Did you mean what you said, before? Do you really...love me?”

Running his thumb along the side of her face, he touched his forehead to hers, and whispered, “Most ardently.”

With those words, whatever walls were left between them crumbled. Macy tore at the buttons of his dress shirt, not bothering to wait for him to take off his tuxedo jacket first. After a brief snafu involving cufflinks, both shirt and jacket fell to the floor. Macy’s coat and scarf were next, and then her sweater. Then, they were both mostly topless and kissing again, more passionately than before, if that was even possible.

“I can’t believe you just quoted Pride and Prejudice,” she groaned, as Harry nibbled his way down her neck to kiss her bare shoulder. “But I’m assuming you knew that I would know.”

“Obviously,” he said, as he slid her bra strap down, trailing more kisses across her collarbone. “I would’ve been shocked if you didn’t. It’s one of the few examples of classic literature that merits the status it’s been given.” 

Macy growled in frustration. “See, that’s so incredibly nerdy! So why do I find it so, very, extremely sexy?”

“Because,” he spoke into her cleavage, “you, my darling, are a woman of taste.”

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a gasp, as his lips brushed over her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. His hands slid up her legs, coming up to grasp her hips as she involuntarily ground her pelvis against the table. A few seconds later, she was fully moaning, bra discarded, as Harry unbuttoned her pants and helped her slide them off. He hadn’t even touched her below the waist yet, but she’d never been wetter or more ready to go all the way.

Macy reached for him, pulling him closer by the waistband of his pants, which were (disappointingly) still on. He used the opportunity to bend her back over the table, covering her with his warmth as he kissed her again. Her hands slid over his back, over the scars he’d accumulated during his career as a Whitelighter, and finally over the one scar he’d had before that. The one that had ended his first, mortal life. When she touched it, they broke apart just long enough to look into each other’s eyes. Macy couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by. Not again.

“Did you know that I’ve told you I loved you already, at least three times?”

“What?” Harry’s face was borderline incredulous. “When? How?”

Macy slid one hand up to cup his face, holding him against her with the other. 

“Every time you asked me how I felt about your Darklighter, I said I couldn’t help but care about him, because he was a part of you. The rest was heavily implied, and I admit that I should’ve said it better, and louder, so you would understand. But I had to love him, just a little, because he was a part of you. And I love you, Harry. I love you with all my heart. With every part of me.”

Comprehension finally dawning across his stupid, perfect face, Harry beamed. Then, he seemed to consider something, and his smile turned into a sexy, sinful smirk. “Even the demon part?”

“Oh,” Macy said, rolling her hips up to meet his, as she wrapped her legs around him to hold him in place. “Especially the demon part.”


	2. A Bad Boy, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fine, ya pervs, you asked for it. Continuing where we left off....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Brought to you by the #HarryIsABottom contingent.)

"Macy...." Harry exhaled her name on a groan that sounded a little painful, honestly.

Feeling suddenly powerful, even a little dangerous, Macy grinned. She locked her ankles together, pulling him closer, until she could feel his hard length against the bundle of nerves at her core. The sweet, excruciating agony of having him so close, almost inside her...but prevented by a thin woolen veneer of propriety...it was so deliciously naughty. So delectably...Harry.

Panting against her throat, Harry gasped out a muttered collection of words, some of which sounded like adjectives. Macy wasn't certain, but she grasped the general meaning of what he was trying to say. All she knew for sure was that her Whiteligher was coming seriously unglued. It was absolutely fucking magical. Lips dragging across her skin, gasping in desperation like a man dying of thirst, he pleaded with her to end his suffering. Like she was the only one who had the power. As if she was the only one of the two of them who was truly in control.

Squeezing her strong thighs a little tighter around his waist, she was rewarded with the another string of muttered--yet somehow, still unfailingly respectful--curses. "Fuck me...oh my...I can't...Macy, please...I need to...Dear God, uhng, that's good. Please, love...."

It was the second "please" that did it. Like a fire building in her lower belly, Macy felt her powers awakening, to join the pulsing sensation at the apex of her thighs. The heat combined with the tingles on her skin, granting her a knifelike clarity that teetered on the edge of maniacal glee. Harry was under her spell now, and nobody else's. He belonged to her. He was hers, forever, to do with whatever she wished.

"Come on, Harry," she urged. "Use your words. Don't hold back. Tell me what you want."

Macy already knew what he would say. He wanted her. He wanted whatever she was willing to give him, more than anything else in the world. But she also knew now that it was up to her to say when, and how, and how much. It was like a magical sexual awakening, but on steroids. For the first time in her life, Macy didn't feel insecure, or scared, or even curious about what might happen next. She craved, she hungered, and she would consume.

"I want to be inside you. I want to bury myself in your sweet, tight cunt and worship you like the goddess you are. I want to serve you with every atom of my body, and taste your lips for the rest of my life."

The sound of ripping wool was Macy's first clue that the magic had brought her a new kind of power. Harry's trousers were torn from his body, without her even having to touch them. His shoes, socks, and underwear quickly followed. Caught up in a haze of lust, Harry barely seemed to register what was happening. It wasn't until they were floating together in midair, a good three feet above the table as their lips locked together in another soul-deep kiss, that the oddness of the situation seemed to register. Pulling back, just enough to look around, Harry blinked as his face morphed into a very professor-like (yet surprisingly less than shocked) expression.

"Well, this power is new," he said, fixing Macy with a little smirk. When their eyes met again, Macy wrapped her arms around his neck, securely but softly. "Or maybe it was always there, waiting to be set free."

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked, flirtatiously. Her voice was husky and deep, and if she had to guess, she'd say her eyes were darker than usual, but not full demon black.

Their legs were tangled together now, as they became each others' new center of gravity. Harry slid one hand up her naked back, burying his fingers in her hair as he possessively yet gently cupped her skull. "Not remotely, my darling. Do your worst, Macy Vaughn."

"Challenge accepted," she whispered into his mouth. Without further ado, she slid her hands down to cup his surprisingly firm buttocks, pulling him inside her with one smooth thrust. They both gasped. Harry was a perfect fit, hard and soft at the same time. When she wriggled slightly to test the fit, he moaned against her lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth as he matched her unspoken challenge with another thrust. Fingernails digging into his ass and lower back, Macy urged him on, setting the pace. Slow and deep. Thrusting and sliding, grasping and gasping, swaying gently in the center of the room. As the pressure between them began to build, Macy found herself wanting more. More friction. More pressure. More Harry.

"Hold on," she whispered, guiding them down to the floor, until they could both set their feet on the cold stone floor. Harry's back was against the dusty bookshelves, and Macy reached out and grabbed ahold of the nearest shelf for leverage, pulling herself closer to him as she ground her hips against his, taking him even deeper than before. With one knee propped on a lower shelf, she was able to open wider, and the angle was blessedly, torturously perfect. Harry's hands dropped down to cup her tightly rounded hips, fingertips digging into her skin as he urged her to use him like her personal sex toy. Distantly, she registered how convenient it was that they were almost the same height. Without heels, Macy only had to rise up slightly on her toes to fuck him as hard as she wanted. With heels, it would be even easier. Picturing what it could be like next time, sneaking off to the library with him in one of his three piece suits. Her in a skirt and her favorite heeled boots, her back against the shelves as he hiked up her skirts and roughly shoved her panties aside, fully clothed except for where they were joined, muffling each others' moans with their hands and mouths...Macy felt herself starting to spin out of control, thrusting harder and faster with every breath. 

The magic was collecting between them, like a bomb waiting to go off. Macy wasn't sure what would happen when it did. She couldn't wait to find out. 

"That's it," Harry grunted, sounding more desperate by the second. "Grind on me, Macy. I can feel you getting closer. God, you're so wet. I want you to come on me, my angel. Come all over my cock."

If his body hadn't already done it, his proper voice urging her on with those filthy words would have pushed her over the edge. Macy came with a primal scream, burying her face in his neck as he quickly flipped them around and used his new leverage to continue pounding into her, increasing her pleasure and forcing her into ecstasy as she alternately sobbed and screamed his name. She knew her fingernails were probably leaving deep scratches across his back, adding to the scars he already carried, but she couldn't bring herself to loosen her hold on him. She never wanted to let him go. It was like being pulled apart and put back together at the same time. Her soul felt like it had left her body, only to mate with his and return more whole than it had been before. 

Surprisingly though, when she'd finally recovered enough to open her eyes, one look at his face told her that he was enjoying the pain more than he wasn't. Biting his lip, he continued thrusting, more slowly and deeply now. A slow smirk spread across his face as he opened his eyes to look into hers. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, voice low and rough as he punctuated his non-apology with a particularly deep thrust. Macy gasped, returning his smile as the magic continued to build. "Did you think we'd finished? Oh no, my love. Believe me, we're just getting started."


	3. “Just Getting Started”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You all asked for this.

Being with Harry was forbidden. Sex in the command center was even more forbidden. That was part of what made it so, incredibly, unbearably hot.

Macy curled her fingers more tightly into the lapels of Harry’s second best tweed blazer, which she’d specifically requested for him to wear, with suspenders, and a crisp white shirt underneath. Licking her lips in anticipation, she pushed him back against the shelves, ignoring the small cloud of dust that resulted from disturbing the ancient books. Fucking her Whitelighter within an inch of his life—in front of the elders’ books, no less—would probably be considered the ultimate sin. And god, Macy loved sinning, it turned out.

Harry had been a little shocked, but not remotely put off by the seemingly random text message at 12:45 AM: meet me in the CC. 10 mins. Wear that jacket—the gray one—and suspenders. Don’t bother with underwear. Come ASAP. 

Now, as he felt her fingers dipping into the waistband of his slacks, he suspected that the double entendre at the end of the text was, in fact, intentional on her part. Such a naughty girl when she wanted to be. And with him, it seemed like she always did. He had absolutely no complaints, however, none whatsoever.

“Dear god, just like that,” he gasped into her soft cloud of hair, pressing his forehead into the side of Macy’s neck as her fingers stroked and squeezed his member like she owned it. And she did. She knew that she did. Probably didn’t need a reminder, but she seemed to love them, so—“fuck me, Macy, I love the way you play with my cock.”

Smiling a tad demonically, she pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes. “Oh, now you think I’m playing?”

There was just enough playful threat in her voice to make him harder—which he previously wouldn’t have though possible—and the sensation was so intense, he gasped. “Macy, I’m begging you. Please—“

“Oh I’m sorry,” she dipped her head to nibble on his neck, just below his left ear, before whispering, “did I give you permission to beg?”

“No,” he painted, fingers clenching the shelves. Because she hadn’t yet given him permission to touch her, either. And he knew the punishment for disobedience in this case. It was almost as sinfully sweet as the reward for doing exactly what she asked. Or—strictly speaking—told. Harry had learned many interesting things about himself in recent weeks, but the most interesting fact was how much he enjoyed taking orders from Macy. In the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the attic where her sisters couldn’t overhear, and particularly during these stolen moments in the command center where they would almost certainly be violating any number of ancient rules and vague prophecies.

“Permission to speak, then?” His voice came out strained, breathless, like he’d been running for miles.

“Go ahead.” Her reply was muffled by her lips against his collarbone, as she worked on undoing the buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. Her movements were painstakingly, torturously slow. She could rip them off, for all he cared. One with access to magic could always get another shirt.

That was another recent discovery, how little Harry actually cared about traditions, rules, or even curses when it came fo choosing between Macy and literally anything else. 

“If it’s not too much trouble, I would very much like to fuck you now.” His Inner James came out a bit there, both in his testy tone and his course accent. 

But she didn’t seem to mind. “Hmm, I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet. After all, it did take you eleven minutes to respond to my text.”

“Oh come on, you know full well I was in the sho—“

Her fingers against his lips cut him off, gently. The sparkle in her eyes told him she was teasing, but the grip of her other hand, still firmly wrapped around his cock, reminded him she meant business.

“I suppose,” she said, with another squeeze and a long, agonizing stroke, “I could allow you to finger me while I work on these buttons.”

Slowly pulling her hand out of his trousers, Macy stepped to one side, turning to press her own back against the shelves. Waiting until she knew he was watching, she pulled the hem of her leather skirt up, past the tops of her over-the-knee boots, sliding it over her perfect thighs, to rest in a bunch around her hips. With a sensual curve of her lips, she leaned back a bit further, spreading her legs just enough to let him see into the shadows beneath her skirt. Then, she crooked her finger, as if to say, “come over here and prove yourself.”

Macy had told him about her secret obsession with lingerie during one of their late night pillow talks in her bedroom, whispering about how, even as a virgin well into her late twenties, she’d adored the sensual feeling of silk on her bare skin and never skimped when it came to knickers (his term, not hers) or nighties. At this moment, Harry thanked the gods for this little, fascinating fact about her. Because the thin scrap of lace that covered her most private parts was tantalizingly, teasingly inviting. 

He wanted to fall immediately to his knees and worship her, with his lips, tongue, and even a hint of teeth. But she hadn’t said he could, yet, so Harry stepped politely between her legs, resting his fingertips lightly against the bare skin of her upper thighs, until she nodded very slightly for him to continue. Sliding his fingers up, across, over her perfect skin, he tried and failed to suppress a moan of arousal. 

Macy smiled, fingers splayed across the tight cotton of his shirt, before moving to continue undoing his buttons. 

“Do your worst, Harry Greenwood. Let’s see you put those talented fingers to good use.”

“As you wish,” he whispered back, so aroused it was almost painful. But always, inevitably, worth the wait. 

While Macy worked each button free, Harry worked his fingers past the flimsy barrier of her knickers—panties, if you will—to tease the opening of her sex, circling the tight little bud at the top without ever directly touching it. Her breathing became short and a little labored, as her eyelids seemed to get heavier with each stroke and each almost brush of his fingertips against her hot little clit. Harry smiled, biting his lower lip against a wave of pleasure-pain, when she whimpered in frustration.

“More, Harry, I need more.”

She was almost at the last button before his shirt tucked into his trousers, and yet suddenly, Harry found himself wanting to take his time. Circling closer, ever so slowly, he slid his left hand down the inside of one silky thigh, nudging her skirt up and out of the way with his wrist, as he continued teasing her with just the fingertips on his left hand.

“Harry, don’t make me ask twice.” This time, there was a slight growl to her whine. He was on the verge of winning their little game, he thought. But there was really only one way to know for sure.

With very little warning, Harry thrust two fingers deep inside her, groaning at the slickness that guided his movements, earning him a yelp that quickly turned into a whimper, a cry of pleasure that he felt deep in his bones.

His left hand alternately tapped and strummed at her clit, as his right pumped into her, slow and deep, just the way she liked. 

“That’s it, why don’t you come for me, love? You know you love it when I fuck you like this, sliding under your skirt, out in the open where someone could walk in at any moment.”

Another thing Harry knew, for absolute certain, was that even though Macy loved to feel in control, and be obeyed, she loved it when he ran his mouth off and teased her with his words, daring her good girl sensibilities to feel ashamed at how brazen and greedy she was when it came to sex. Because she trusted him completely, and he knew exactly how dark her darkest fantasies were, he was more than willing to help her test them.

“Oh god, Harry, I’m so close!”

So was he, if he was being honest. Just the sight of her, the sound of her, the feel of her warmth pressing all around his fingers...it was almost enough to undo him. But luckily, he’d had some practice.

“Not yet, Macy, hold on for me love.”

“Harry, please,” she whimpered when he pulled his hands away. “Now I’m the one begging. No more games. I need you, right now. All of you.”

Reaching down to undo his trousers, Harry pulled the tails of his shirt, popping off the final button to bare his chest, so she could run her hands across it. Then she reached for his suspenders, which were still connected to his pants on either side of his now open fly, using the stays like a harness to pull him toward her. Into her. They both gasped, as Harry’s fully erect cock entered her suddenly. He was so hard, and she was so ready and wet, it was all he could do not to scream. It was too much, it was just enough, it was everything.

Macy’s whimpering had almost reached a fever pitch, as all pretense or power plays seemed to have left her mind, replaced by sheer need. “Harry, please, please. I’m so—oh god, you’re so—I can’t, I’m going to...”

Harry pulled back, noticing how she instinctively arched her back, as if trying to follow him as he pulled out of her. When he was almost out of her, but not quite, he repositioned his hips, knowing exactly the angle to drive into her to make her scream and lose the last of her control. Panting, he braced himself for the explosion of earth-shattering, magical pleasure that would rock them both. Then he paused.

He waited until her eyes opened, until her expression changed from anticipation to confusion, until she looked at him like she was ready to kill him.

“Harry?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his voice was gravelly with restraint, but a tad playful. “You haven’t given me permission to fuck you, love.”

Her smile turned into a laugh, that cut off with a whine of desperation. “HARRY.”

That was all the direction he needed. Dipping his head down to claim her lips in a soul-deep kiss, he thrust into her with everything he had. All his might, his love, his skill, and his soul. Pulling her into him, even as he pushed more deeply into her, he absorbed the screams of pleasure he’d earned. Together, they exploded into light, sound, colors, and the world seemed to hold its breath around them.

When they finally came back to earth, together, Harry found himself clutching Macy tightly to his chest, still mostly clothed, but connected in body and soul. 

“My gods, I am so in love with you, Macy Vaughn.”

She tilted her head back to smile at him, finally opening her eyes. 

“Oh damn, Mel is going to be super pissed when she finds out we broke another set of bookshelves.”


End file.
